The Trouble With Fangirls
by TARDIS-BadWolf
Summary: Matt Smith is doing his best to survive the three day 50th Anniversary Event, even if it feels like his hand might fall off. A by-the-book event, until he meets one fan with an accent he can't place. Shenanigans ensue. I'm embarrassed and ashamed and sorry. I'm just so, so sorry.


**A/N: This is very loosely based off a completely innocent dream I had after being lucky enough to buy a standard ticket to the event. The website did crash, and the VIP ticket and Photo Op I had in my cart were lost! I am blaming that hugely traumatic experience on going out of my head and writing an AU story. And Emmybooboo, who should have slapped some sense into me rather than encourage me.**

**If you hate this, blame her. If you don't hate it, or you want to make suggestions on how I might continue to bring shame onto the name TBW, please leave a review and let me know what you think and go on blaming her.**

**Honestly, I blushing so intensely and staring at the submit button. I am beyond hope.**

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Chapter One

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He had known this event was going to be big, bigger than big, but as he dropped heavily into his seat for what felt like the hundredth time that day to face what seemed to be a never ending sea of people waiting on the opposite end of his folding table, he realized that somehow, impossible as it might be considering just how huge his expectations had built this week up in his mind, it had still been a bigger deal than he had expected. Of course, this was not the first time had found himself contemplating the magnitude of the Celebration while staring down what sometimes looked more like a horde than a crowd, not even close to the first time. It had been a long couple of days, and just as the schedule had remained very much the same from Friday to Saturday to Sunday, so too had the monumental task and time sink that was the autograph table. He rotated and flexed his wrist and allowed his fingers to stretch before he picked up the fresh pen an event coordinator had left him before waving forward the next eager, gushing fan and pulled on his best smile as easily as he might have a well worn jumper, doing his best to enjoy this moment, to take every confession of love or genuine, but all too familiar, words of encouragement and admiration, and enjoy himself as much as he could in spite of how very tired he was by this point.

It was hard to make out every face (and he had certainly given up on trying to remember), to laugh at every joke and return every smile as they just kept coming forward, posters and booklets and all sorts of paraphernalia thrust towards him to eagerly accept the flourish of his signature and perhaps receive a kind word of thanks and a lingering handshake, before they were on their way to meet with friends that had either come along with them to the premier of the 50th Anniversary Celebration, or else to gush to groups of like minded strangers who had found and enjoyed each other's company simply because they were united in their devotion for this brilliant, old television program and perhaps their passionate admiration and love of him, the man who had brought the Doctor to life on screen most recently.

_Matt Smith._

He signed the smirking photo of himself with a flourish and smiled kindly up at a pre-adolescent girl who seemed torn between smiling her widest smile and hiding the gleam of her braces, although she lost the battle of her insecurity when he added a line of "_Much love, The Doctor_" below his name with a smattering of X's and O's. He had barely gotten a look at her retreating back before another fan came forward, a man with a stack of different things, his eyes hopeful and nervous as he avoided the gaze of the event coordinator and asked if he would sign just one or two more, for his mates that had not been lucky enough to score tickets. He waved off the disapproving coordinator that had been assigned to keep the line orderly and efficient, scribbling his name and a few kind words on three photos, knowing that it was not enough for the man but not being able to do any more for him, not with so many more people waiting. Honestly, if he lingered over every surface they had brought to the table, to sign for every missing friend, he knew he would never see the back of the line, or the green room that would have tea and snacks and delicious silence waiting for him. Once the autographs were finished he would be able to retreat and catch his breath before the screening of the episode - which was more of a short film, really - before the festivities would continue on while a few fans who had been lucky enough to buy up a photo session with him would come in a much less overwhelming line to end the night, and finally the Celebration. It was a comforting thought, knowing that in just a few short hours the three day event would finally have hit it's peak and would be behind them, much to the relief of all of the staff and writer's and actor's that had made this all possible. It wasn't that he was ungrateful, even now as his wrist ached as he swept the pen over photo after photo, he felt his mind boggle. Fans gushed about how lucky they were to be there, to meet him, and he wondered if they knew that he felt lucky to have been there to meet them as well.

Still, it seemed as though time were really dragging in the home stretch, and even as the line shrank and he counted more girls than guys waiting in line now, which was becoming blessedly short. He laughed as he was hit on, flirted with shamelessly by girls and women alike who plucked at comically large bowties, or else took the time to smooth Celebration marked T-shirts down over their breasts suggestively and continued with the swooping motion of the pen.

Smile, nod, sign his name.

Laugh, nod, sign his name.

Whoop at the extravagance of his or her cosplay effort, nod, sign his name.

He was getting close to the end now, only a few people left to go, and he flashed a smile at one girl who had hung back, allowing an altogether over excited couple to go ahead of her and sort of lingering at the front of the line when she saw him reach for the bottle of water that he hadn't had the chance to acquaint himself with in hours, once before he signed the book the couple had brought forward, and again once they had gone and he noticed that she was in no hurry to come forward. The girlfriend was shaking as she bounced off, and her boyfriend had called a word of thanks back to the girl who had given him a moment to breathe despite the confused muttering of the people behind her. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he had drained half the bottle, the plastic crunching in his tired hand. Still, with only a few more of them waiting he felt a surge of energy pulse in his chest, a second wind (or fourth, or fifth) lifting his spirits as he beckoned for the strangely patient girl to come forward.

"Hello, and thanks for that." He greeted her warmly, gesturing towards the half-drunk bottle. "I think I'd forget to breathe in a crowd like this, if that were possible."

He expected her to laugh loudly at that, they all laughed quite a bit whenever he made weak jokes, but all she managed was a small smile before she seemed to remember the few items she had in her arms. She had paused to hold up two pictures, heavily-lashed eyes scanning each before she decided on the one she liked best, which she slid across the table, flashing him a guilty sort of smile as she tucked the other into the satchel she had settled on her hip. She would not have been the first to have come forward with more than one item for him to sign, and he would gladly have have indulged her the way he had so many others, but she seemed aware of the impatience of the few people left behind her and had decided against asking, as if she had sacrificed some of her time in giving him the time he needed to drink and catch his breath.

"Yes, hello! Sorry, I wasn't sure which I liked best." She said breathily, thrusting her hand forward to take his just as he had picked up the pen before she drew it back with an awkward laugh. "Sorry. I'm nervous."

"Quite alright." Pen in hand, he found himself looking at her more closely, realizing with some interest that he could not quite place the accent she spoke with. He had met people from all over Europe over the last few days, had even spent some time in America in the past year, but most of the dialects he had come across this weekend had been familiar and this one sort of stuck out. He had always been good at placing people, the red of their hair or olive tone of their skin often giving them away when paired with the cadence with which they spoke.

Looking her up and down, he decided there was not much to give away where she might have come from. She was short and a brunette, her dark hair framing a pale and un-freckled face in loosely tumbling waves, a pretty but unremarkable combination. Blue-green eyes watched him curiously as he peered thoughtfully at her from across the table, holding up a finger as he hummed thoughtfully, dragging his gaze from her pale face, and down over the swell of modest breasts and her rounded hips. Good looking, but not in the way he was used to, her clothing looking generic, her makeup tasteful but light, looking very much like the sort of girl you might come across during a visit to your home town. She was dressed rather casually, compared to the people around her anyways, a dark red jumped zipped just under the slope of her chest, dark denim hugging the curve of her hips, with a TARDIS-patterned satchel hanging from over one shoulder, with a soft, creme-coloured loosely knit scarf hanging over her shoulders. A collection of pretty pieces that suggested there might be various European influences on her genetics, but completely lacking in any red flags or clues as to where she had come from. He smiled a wry smile, leaning back in his chair a bit, the pen twirling between his fingers as he shook his head, losing the game she had know idea he had been playing. "Am I making this one out to you, seeing as how you put the spare away?" He smiled when she nodded, amused by how incredibly sheepish the mention of the illicit extra photograph made her look, as if she had been the only one to ever dare to approach him with more than one. "What's your name?"

"Lynn. It's Lynn. Just Lynn." She was rocking a bit, back and forth on the heels of her shoes, the look of nervousness and excitement all too familiar, but also rather becoming paired with the strange way she spoke.

"And where are you from, '_just Lynn_'?" He asked as he popped the cap off his pen with his teeth. "You've got an accent I don't recognize - and I've heard a lot of them, I'm sure you can imagine. I'm usually very good at placing them, even the American ones!"

"Me? _You_ think _I've_ got an accent, eh?" She laughed and nodded, tugging her bag over the front of her hips to tap a small badge she had pinned to the front of the TARDIS doors, the crimson maple leaf standing out easily. "Oh, I guess it might sound that way over here! Canada, actually." Grinning, she shrugged her bag back over her shoulder and behind her as she leaned over the table, watching him sign his name.

"Canada? As in '_Canada, eh_?' As in, the friendly frozen wastes, Canada?" If she thought he sounded surprised, she would have been right. "Blimey, you're a long way away from home. You came all this way for _this_? A screening of Doctor Who and an autograph?"

"Well, yes and no. The plan was to buy the VIP tickets, and a photo session as well. The website though - ha, it sort of crashed as soon as the tickets were available! I was lucky to get the one I got." She was laughing, although he could see that her disappointment was still quite fresh, but she shrugged that off quickly, clearly determined to enjoy the moment. "And of course, London! I've always wanted to see it, long before Doctor Who. Happy coincidence, eh?"

He decided that he liked the way she spoke, reminding him a bit of what he had heard in America, but different somehow. Softer vowel sounds, he thought, and perhaps a touch more formal. He signed her picture thoughtfully, wondering about the one in her bag. "Is it true that all Canadians are polite to a fault?" He asked as he slid the signed photo back across the table, reaching for her hand. He grinned at the way she rolled her eyes, thinking that perhaps he had not been the first to comment on her nationality since she had arrived in London. Not many fans rolled their eyes at him.

"I couldn't say. I haven't traveled a lot, even at home. Probably why I love the show so much." She mused before shyly offering her hand back to him, surprising him with the firmness of her grip when he took her hand in his. "Everyone in London seems to think so, so I'm going to say yes, probably. Probably our English roots, keeping us humble."

He grinned at that, giving her arm a few enthusiastic pumps before he released her hand. She had started away, but abruptly back-pedalled before the person behind her could approach. He quirked one brow, laughing at the way she brought her hand up to block the view of the glaring coordinator standing off to the side.

"Alright, not all that polite." She said with a sort of groan, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. "Can I - I'm sorry, it's pathetic, I know - but... Can I have a hug? Please?" She winced at the sound of the man controlling the line calling out to her, her pale face becoming considerably brighter, flushed with embarrassment. A few people in line had cheered for her, some looking hopeful and others looking jealous. He could see quite plainly that she was torn between feelings of hope and regret, seeming more embarrassed by the request than most people were when they asked.

"Well, seeing as how you did cross the _Atlantic_ just to get here... I suppose..." He rolled his eyes teasingly before pushing his chair back and away from the table, standing up as she came around, blushing brilliantly as she sized him up, him standing several inches taller than her. He opened his arms and wiggled his fingers and eyebrows, hoping to charm her out of her shyness so that he wouldn't have to drag her over to him while the staff coordinators glanced worriedly at their watches and the people left cheering in the line. That seemed to do it, and she fell into the circle of his arms with a small cry of delight, her arms coming up and under his shoulder blades as she stood on her toes and pressed herself flush against him, mumbling words of thanks into his chest before he even had his arms around her.

Normally, and not uncommonly, fans had to be coaxed into releasing their idols by the staff, sometimes rather awkwardly as they held on too tightly for too long, sometimes completely falling apart and needing to be consoled after the kind gesture. This time however, she had been the one to pull away first, leaning as far back as the circle of his arms would allow, her hands slipping from his shoulders to rest lightly on his waist, but it had taken him more than a few moments to even realize what had happened. He had sort of leaned over to hug her properly, meaning to speak a few encouraging words against her shoulder, when the cloying smell of her perfume had distracted him. It wasn't that it was bad, or even really all that strong, just something nice and sweet and unusual. Something like coconut, he thought vaguely. She had not held him tightly, had not meant to invade too much of his space, but had sort of relaxed against him when he held on for a few seconds too long, her body feeling soft against his as her curves pressed sweetly against the unyielding flatness of his chest, as soft and sweetly as the fragrance that clung to her hair and clothing.

A wolf whistle from the crowd and the flashing of camera phones had managed to get his attention, and the coordinators seemed torn as to whether or not to check on the two of them or quickly discourage the use of the camera phones when he sort of hopped back, clearing his throat audibly, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck nervously. She was just just sort of staring up at him, not unkindly, a bemused smirk playing across her pale, unglossed lips.

"Dozed off a bit!" He chirped brightly, laughing as he clapped her on the shoulder perhaps a bit too roughly.

"Long day." She agreed, looking every bit as shy and pleased as a fan-girl should, although she seemed calm enough and not to want to lure him into another public embrace. There were no tears in her eyes, and she was not looking at him like he was an Adonis to be worshipped, and he thought she looked more like she had just hugged her best mate for the first time in a long time. Instead, she offered him her hand again. "Thanks again, so much. I'm not usually a celebrity stalker, but, you know. Caught up in the moment."

"Yeah. Caught up in the moment, I'm sure." He gave her a nod and shook her hand again before bringing his up to sweep his hair out of his eyes, struck once again by the lingering scent of that unusual perfume that seemed to have stuck to his skin. He saw her mouth the word goodbye before she turned to dart back into the crowd.

"Wait! Wait, just a moment." When she turned back to face him, the only person who looked more confused than she did was the staff coordinator, who looked stressed enough that he might just pass out, right there. She regarded him with raised eyebrows, toying with the scarf she had loosely hanging from her shoulders. He beckoned her closer and she came, of course she did, but this time with much more confidence and teasing warmth in her smile.

"Still want that photo?" He offered, casual as you like, though as quietly as he could. Her eyes widened, his offer seeming to knock the smirk right out of her smile and he shoved his hands in his pockets. "If you've got time, hang around 'till the end? I mean, I would hate for you to have come all this way just for _that_." He gestured at the signed photo of himself she still had in her hand. "I know you said you missed the chance to buy one - let me see what I can do, '_just Lynn_'."

She looked as though she was going to hug him again, but the absolute look of devastation on the staff coordinator next to her seemed to make her think twice. She nodded, worrying her bottom lip once again with her teeth as she tugged and twisted her scarf. He grinned and gave her a wave before he allowed himself to be ushered back to his table.

Of course, following that little display, the rest of the line had been cleared at a much slower pace as he had no other choice but to get up and hug, albeit much more briskly, anyone who had asked after she had disappeared into the crowd.

Even after the autographs had all been signed he had lingered to give out hugs to anyone who had seen anyone else get a hug - it had become a sort of chain reaction, he realized - until he was finally able to get away. He watched as the crowds were led into the theatre room and hung around just outside the doors with a few of the other guest actors. The delicate scent of coconut seeming to flood his senses for a moment, although he was not sure he saw her as the crowd milled about. In his head, perhaps. Something about that fragrance had struck a chord in him, though he wasn't quite sure what it was about.

Really, of all the different scents and fragrances a girl could choose, a girl from Canada, coconut seemed the most bizarre.

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**A/N: My name is not Lynn. Don't judge me.**


End file.
